I smelled it before I saw it, the sharp scent of smoldering charcoal mixed with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on – though it was familiar. I followed my nose down a narrow backstreet in Nizwa, finding a crowd massed around an enormous, stone-lined pit. The men were heaving large, charred lumps out of the pit and into wheelbarrows waiting at ground level. On closer inspection, the lumps seemed to be blackened burlap sacks, but I was still mystified by what they contained. A number of men in this early morning huddle (it was barely 7am) noticed the gawking foreigner and waved me to the front for a better view. One broke a big smile and asked: “You want meat?” Suddenly it all made sense. And I could pin point the elusive smell: barbecue!
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